


'Again'

by Random_ag



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, and crowley overthinks it all at the speed of light, and then something is done, aziraphale says one thing, heaven as a whole is kind of a bitch, hell aint better but we're not talking bout them rn, its that one scene, oof, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 09:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: No. No, because there won’t be an ‘again’.





	'Again'

_“Or… Or I’ll never talk to you again!”_

Time comes to a full stop for two seconds right there.

It should be petty. It should be yet another way to prove that he’s got the demon wrapped around his little finger, ready to do everything he wants when, where and how he wants it to be done for the only reward of that smile that reaches those shining, stupid, clever eyes, because only a fool does whatever the hell he’s asked to do by someone like _him_ and the demon is exactly that fool.

But it’s not petty, because those eyes are wide and scared and pleading because the angel knows (and knows that he too knows) that if the Apocalypse starts, there won’t _be_ an ‘again’.

If they manage not to die in the fight, if they manage to escape, even if it means leaving the world and humanity behind so they can fly away to another planet, another solar system, another galaxy, another universe, they _will_ be found - because you can’t hide from someone who’s supposed to see and know and be everything - and Heaven will put its blinding, pristine hands on a little rogue angel and the last demon to be still kicking.

Hell will lose - that’s just how it is. Its defeat is written everywhere: on its walls, on its pavement, on its forniture, on the skin and flesh and bone of everybody who resides in it. Heaven knows it. It’s been fun, Heaven says, the two of battling for ages, me keeping people from sinning, you keeping them from the road to good, it’s been a lot of laughs and a very nice game, but it’s bed time now, and no matter what tantrum you throw, it’s time to go. Playtime is over, let the adults watch their show in peace.

What would they do? To the last of the demons?

He can already feel the cold of the holy water corroding his skin, like a strong frostbiting acid - or, would they be crueler? Suddenly he can see it clear as day: a flaming sword risen high above his head, and his angel, his stupid, clever, gluttonous, wondrous angel who delights in books and awfully fake magic tricks, with his curly hair and shining eyes, choking back all will and tears as everybody around him waits for the final victory.

The last swing, and the head of the serpent rolling on the floor.

Would his angel do it? Would he truly be obendient, perhaps behind the bargain of complete absolution? Kill the last one standing and you’re back among our ranks without any of those six thousand years meaning anything.

He can’t imagine it. He truly can’t.

And maybe that’s worse.

Because now it’s not Aziraphale delivering judgement, it’s someone else; and that’s because the angel will be executed with the demon.

An angel! Killed by their kin for something as noble as wishing not to do harm!

It sounds sick, it sounds wrong, it sounds exactly like the reason why he never seemed too keen on returning upstairs, always preferring the limbo of Earth, someplace in between, when yes there’s awfulness at every turn, but a whole lot of kindness as well.

Who would they kill first? If it was to be the angel, he wouldn’t stand it. He already lost him once, he doesn’t need to live that again. If it was to be the demon, he can’t imagine what kind of grief could overcome the other. Would he cry? Would he blame himself? The thought burns a hole into his mind. He’d never let him think that. He’d never let him think it was his fault.

And if they were to torture them both? If they forced them to look at each other suffering until they willingly waved the white flag and begged to be killed?

Would their last words to each other be ‘I’m sorry’?

_Or I’ll never talk to you again!_

No. No, because there won’t be an ‘again’.

Time flows back to normal inside of the demon’s head.

And Crowley raises his arms to the blessed sky and _does something._


End file.
